


Soldiers and Scientists

by Valmouth



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate Universe
Genre: Flying, Gen, Puddlejumpers, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmouth/pseuds/Valmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Colonel Young meant by 'Sheppard's right'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soldiers and Scientists

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-SGU and Post-SGA.

It’s only a brief introduction: Colonel Everett Young likes planes; Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard has a pet Ancient shuttle.

Every pilot in the SGC wants a look at the Atlantis ships so when he gets the chance to go up in one with Atlantis’ best pilot, he takes the chance.

As he approaches, he can hear an almost lazy drawl say they ‘should damn well start charging the tourists’.

The voice goes with that thatch of unmanageable and unmanaged thick hair that sticks up in all directions, and Everett barely changes expression as he strides up alongside.

“Well, then I hope it’s worth the fee,” he says serenely.

It satisfies the little twinge of irritation to see the lean, wiry figure start, but he is more impressed that a hand goes straight to where a thigh holster is strapped on.

Atlantis has been on Earth for six months now, and as far as the people stationed on the Ancient city go, life’s been a sweet ride through celebration, resupply, reposting and settling down. And Earth is, relatively speaking, at peace.

The fact that John Sheppard goes from lazy drawl to high alert in a split second says a lot about what the expedition’s come back from.

Then that hand drops and the figure straightens up. “Sir,” Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard says, “Didn’t hear you approach.”

No salute. No move to attention. Not even a word of apology or olive branch.

Colonel Young stops at the bottom of the ramp, careful not to step onto it, and says, “Permission to board, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“She’s ready for you.”

They don’t shake hands, because there’s no introductions necessary. Young has four hours to kill before an evening meeting with General O’Neill and Jack’s asked him, somewhat too innocently, if he’s had a chance to see the famous Atlantis puddlejumpers yet. It seems Sheppard’s doing a routine trip through the outer orbit to collect data on the repairs made.

From what Young can gather, if nothing falls off or catches fire on their trip, the repairs will be successful.

There’s another man inside the shuttle, a little man with glasses who fusses with a panel and a tablet for a few minutes while muttering in another language before turning to Sheppard.

“Colonel, I really cannot stress how important...”

“Radek, it’s fine. I know. Rodney already told me.”

The little guy in the glasses lowers his tablet. “Oh,” he says thoughtfully, and then, with a grin, “How many times?”

“I stopped counting after three,” Sheppard says.

There’s an easy camaraderie there, a kind of conspirational mutual understanding.

Young says nothing, just trails his hands over the console. He doesn’t push any buttons and nothing lights up for him. Of course, he’s not thinking ‘on’ at it. He has the ATA gene but it’s about the weakest version you can get before not having it at all.   

Settling in is easy. No seatbelts or anything. John Sheppard asks him to sit down, makes no small talk, gives him a second’s warning before they take off, and then they’re flying through the air and hitting the upper reaches of the atmosphere. And it feels like he might as well be in a commercial jet flying business, except the seat’s not as comfortable.

Still, the ride’s smooth enough that he unclenches muscle he didn’t even know he’d been clenching.

It’s not the first time he’s been into space but he’s always gone through the Asuran beaming technology on the Hammond. He’s never actually been at this altitude before, with the planet so huge it stretches into infinity through one side of the front view and yet so far he can only see the continents from the water. Maybe a few mountains, a few brown patches, a couple of little green-tinted belts.

It’s amazing.

“Ever been up before, Colonel?” Sheppard asks.

“Nope,” Young says, and that’s all he really needs to say.

Sheppard taps his radio and tells whoever’s on the other end that nothing has, in fact, fallen off or caught fire.

And then there’s a crackly but very loud and very obnoxious voice filtering through John’s radio and all around the front cabin.

“Sheppard, I told you to wait until we...”

Sheppard takes his radio off and holds it a little way away from him. But he sighs more than he winces. “Rodney,” he says.

And it’s almost a whine.

“You don’t listen! I told you to...”

The techno-babble makes absolutely zero sense to Young but he watches John Sheppard and listens in shamelessly.

Scientists, as far as he knows them, come in two varieties- intelligent, and genius. The intelligent ones are the easiest to work with. They work fast, they work quietly, and they understand social graces like courtesy, chain of command, and basic communication. The genius type- not so much.

Young’s had eight months of dealing with Rush. The science and research team on the Icarus base runs like a well-oiled but paranoid and over-stressed machine. The tension filters out everywhere else and there’s nothing much he can do to change that.

Not that he’s tried too hard these last couple of months; it’s not really his headache any more. That glory’s going to go to Telford. He’s still not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Rush doesn’t take to control, either from the military, the IOA, or fellow scientists. He’s an ass, really, and if his work wasn’t so good, the SGC would have cut him loose years ago.

But the problem is his work really is everything they say it is. Or it seems to be; again, Young doesn’t understand techno-babble. He trusts the scientists to know, though, and the scientists to a man despise Rush but follow his lead.

And hell, who knows, maybe David’s more aggressive approach to leadership will keep Rush in line. Miracles can happen.

After all, there are stories about Dr. McKay, who he’s reasonably sure is the obnoxious voice on the other end.

Sheppard brings up a range of diagnostics on the screen and from a pilot’s perspective, Young’s brain starts translating the little he understands of what he can see.

“Everything looks good,” Sheppard says.

“Fine.”

The sniffy voice on the other end suddenly cuts out.

Sheppard carefully puts the wireless radio back into his ear. Glances across at Young.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Sheppard says, “Doctor McKay can be... loud.”

“No problem, Colonel,” Young says, “You’ve got a job to do. I expected you to do it.”

He gets an odd look from Sheppard, and a flat stare from hazel eyes, and then Sheppard turns back to his screen.

“We’re working on improving handling capabilities,” Sheppard says abruptly, “So pilots without the ATA gene can fly the ‘jumpers.”

It’s not exactly a classified project, so Young’s not worried about the information offered, but the fact that Sheppard’s gone from monosyllabic to talkative is yet another interesting shift in dynamic.

“’jumpers?”

“Puddlejumpers.”

“I keep meaning to ask about that,” Young says ironically.

Sheppard smirks a little. “Only alternative was ‘gateship’ and that didn’t sound right.”

He taps something on the panel in front of him and the data shifts. Young’s not sure exactly what it’s shifted to. Half of it seems to be in Ancient.

But John Sheppard seems satisfied with it so arguably it’s good data. Whatever it means.

Earth spreads out below them in a swirling ball of blue and green and brown.

“You must be happy to be home,” Young says.

Sheppard doesn’t immediately reply. He fiddles with something on the console and when he does speak, his voice is slow, meditative. “It’s kind of a mixed blessing, actually, sir.”

“Really?”

“Atlantis isn’t really something you can hide in the Mountain or Area 51. It’s a giant city. We have the cloak but...” John shakes his head. “We’re trying to hide it from ordinary humans and the Lucien Alliance.”

“Doesn’t help that it’s off the coast of San Francisco.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

John Sheppard is tense. Young glances sideways and he thinks of Scott, who is young and therefore allowed to look terrified, but he thinks that when Scott’s older and possibly harder, that’s how tense the boy’s going to look in a bad situation.

“Not that we can’t figure it out,” John says, “We will. Eventually.”

Young doesn’t allow the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. He’s been accused of being a pompous ass by an English scientist before; he doesn’t think amusement will be the kind of reaction Colonel Sheppard will take kindly to either.

“With Dr. McKay,” he remarks.

This time it’s John who grins. Just a twist upwards of the corners of his mouth, more sardonic fondness than amusement, but it breaks the stress in the lines of his face and makes him look younger.

“Best brain in two galaxies,” John says, “According to Rodney, of course. I always get the feeling some people disagree.”

“Rush would,” Young says, feelingly, “Actually, no. He wouldn’t. He’d find a way to let you see how very wrong he thinks you are without having to say a word.”

They were hovering. Young wasn’t sure what other data they were waiting for, but the puddlejumper was clearly not moving. Sheppard gave the impression of slouching, even when he was sitting straight and leaning forward over his controls.

Still watching the data stream.

“See, now, that’s the thing with Rodney,” Sheppard says unexpectedly, “He can be...”

“Hard work?” Young offers.

John nods. “Very. But he’s upfront. He’ll say whatever’s in his head. You cut through the bullshit, there’s real stuff there.” A pause. “Of course, you still have to cut through the bullshit.”

Young finally smiles, not so much at the words but at the image in his head, of how typical this is in the SGC- military trying to understand scientists trying to understand the military. And the fact that it works, that they don’t end up killing each other, well, that makes all the difference.

Common ground, he decides. What the best teams find is common ground. Some purpose that means more than they do.

He’s not sure if David and Rush will ever find that. David’s never been good at sharing command, and Rush is a lone wolf who takes, doesn’t ask. But it won’t be his problem for much longer.

“Colonel, how much longer are we up here for?” he asks.

“Almost done,” Sheppard says, “Though.”

There’s something about the guileless pause in Sheppard’s voice that makes Young wait in silent enquiry. That almost makes him grin again.

“We could,” John says, “Take her for a little spin. Just to test the repairs.”

“Of course,” Colonel Young says gravely, “Carry on.”

And Sheppard doesn’t grin himself, but he licks his lips as he turns back to the console, and he looks so completely innocent that Young knows the joke is mutual.

The sudden fizz as they shoot off is exhilarating, even if he knows intellectually that his body doesn’t feel the Gs.

The sun bursts into view around the planet’s edge and the sight is dazzling.

Best planet he’ll ever know, Young thinks, fiercely proud of his home world, and he’s absolutely sure that giving up command to stay on Earth is the right decision.

By the time they land back at the base they’re an hour overdue, and Rodney McKay has been back on the radio, demanding to know where John Sheppard has taken the puddlejumper.

“Just tell me you haven’t flown it into the ocean,” comes the tinny voice.

“It’s not like I’m going in after you this time,” John says.

“You crashed one into the ocean?” Young asks.

“Not crashed. It’s a long story,” John says, “But the short version is these things can go underwater too. It’s pretty cool.”

Young shakes his head. “If I wanted underway, I would have joined the Navy. Just flying is fine with me.”

“Trust me, I prefer the birds to the fish myself.”

They land and it’s all over in a matter of minutes. Sheppard is a good pilot, possibly one of the best Young has ever flown with, and they barely feel the landing.

The little man with the glasses and the tablet is waiting impatiently for them to disembark, and when they do, he favours Young with a quick glance before looking earnestly up at Sheppard.

“Colonel Sheppard, nothing fell off?”

“Or caught fire,” Sheppard says laconically, “Everything seems to be working.”

“I will retrieve data,” the little guy says, and scuttles off into the ‘jumper.

They don’t do a long goodbye. Young has to report to General O’Neill and Sheppard has to report to the maintenance crew. They part amicably enough.

A month later, Young wakes up to find himself injured, disoriented, and stranded on a disintegrating spaceship.


End file.
